Magic of Chocolate: Candies for Every Fancy
by Lily Martin
Summary: Willy Wonka's newest line of candies, Magic of Chocolate: Candies for Every Fancy, is just about to launch off, and the spokeswoman has been found, an English witch just off tour with her band. small HPxover ch.1&2 edited.
1. Chapter 1: Performances and Auditions

_**Magic of Chocolate: Candies for Every Fancy.**_

_**Chapter 01: Performance and Audition**_

**By: Lily M.**

**Rated: **M…for the time being, it's all quite PG, but later on, it really won't be.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and its subsequent properties (i.e. characters you may recognize), I also don't own the premise for the wizaring world, that's J.K. Rowling, but I really don't use her world all that much.

**Spoilers: **The 2005 movie of CatCF, it'd probably be good to know some about Harry Potter, but it's really unnecessary.

**Summary: **There were no actual p-parents within the boarders of the counrty, just one aged mother who refused to see her, no problem there. She was a witch that would make the whole process a lot more bearable, and considerably easier. She was a witch, she was a professional performer, and she was English. Those were just some of Mr. Wonka's thoughts on the choice for spokeswoman of the new ad campaign for the newest line of candies, mainly chocolate, _Magic of Chocolate_. Very minor Harry Potter crossover.

_A/N:_ there are a lot of songs mentioned throughout this chapter as well as all future chapters. The way I'll be handling that will be that at the end of the chapter, I'll do a list of all the songs mentioned throughout that chapter, and also who wrote them. The songs I choose I chose because I like them, if you ask me, yes they're good songs. Just know, while I'm not basing the story off of music, I use music heavily to inspire me. I just wanted to add that, it could be a short bit of time before I update again, I'll be going on vacation with little to zip computer time and then going pretty much straight back to boarding school with college preparations, so, while I can't promise regular updates, I do hope you'll stick with and let me know what you think.

_Edited 8/22/05 for consistent accents, thanks for pointing that out moonbean. _

July 4th, 2006

The fourth of July was a time for barbecues, drinking, and all out celebrating. This fact is widely known and supported. The party that would most support this fact amongst the workers of the toothpaste factory was always held by Mr. John Wilkes. It was the one party a year that Mr. and Mrs. Bucket attended every year. Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Bucket had always gotten along together, having started at the factory at the exact same time, and Mr. Bucket went to several gatherings a year held by Wilkes.

There was always live music played by one of the local bands, dancing, a never ending flow of liquor and beer, and a buffet of numerous scrumptious foods Mrs. Joan Wilkes and her sisters had worked the two days previous putting together. Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes lived in the house once owned by his mother, who was living in a nursing home after suffering several seizures. The party always took place out back, where a wooden dance floor had been put together by Mr. Wilkes, his brother-in-laws, and, for the past several years, Mr. Bucket. The party, better known as a blow-out amongst the attendees had become such a large function amongst nearly _all_ employees that along with the fourth of July, the fifth of July was a day when the factory was closed, for reasons of hangovers amongst a majority of employees, including management.

Mr. Bucket had continued his employment at the toothpaste factory even after they'd moved into the factory. His re-employment repairing the machine that put the tops on the toothpaste tubes allowed him to continue supporting his family in the way he felt he should, taking care of food and clothing. Mr. Wonka had become a family friend, and man-to-man, or rather, man-to-chocolatier, had sort of understood Mr. Bucket's reasoning.

The Bucket family had been living in their little cottage in the Chocolate Room for just over a year when Mr. and Mrs. Bucket decided it'd be good for Mr. Wonka to get out into the world and meet people. Charlie had overheard them, and, thankfully, had been the one to finally get Willy to agree. Although, right up to the last minute, Willy had come up with reasons that he shouldn't go, his most common being the new ad campaign for their newest line of candies. Charlie ignored his every excuse, and Willy couldn't bring himself to outright refuse. Charlie could take care of any of the number of things Willy had come up with, he already knew how to take care of nearly everything within the factory as it was, and the oompa-loompas knew anything that he didn't.

…And so began Willy Wonka's foray into the world of parties and real human interaction.

The group that gathered at Wilkes's every year had the ability to shock even a person such as Mr. Wonka. These people, who were mild-mannered and overworked, distressed and let go, creating a somewhat wilder party than Mr. Wonka would ever have suspected Mr. and Mrs. Bucket attended. Actually, when they'd first stepped into the back yard, and joined the party, he'd considered dragging them instantly to a specialist to have their heads checked.

Nearly the moment they arrived, they were swooped in upon by Mr. John Wilkes. Wonka would forever accuse the man of coming at them like a schnozzwagler after its breakfast oompa-loompas.

"Bucket."

"Wilkes."

Greetings were made, as well as introductions. Mr. Wilkes was the same age as Mr. Bucket, but his hairline, which had been receding since he'd turned twenty-five, was now nearing the back of his head in his thirty-fifth year.

"Hey, Bucket, you remember that sis I told you about from London, that's her and her band playin', Forgotten Holiday or something like that, they're stoppin' through for a couple weeks," Mr. Wilkes said loudly over the music.

Mr. Wilkes was American through and through, had lived in the town all his life, had never been to London, and never wished to go. He did not like his sister much, most of this came from the fact that she had lived and grown up with the father he'd known only to go in and out of he and his mother's lives. She was a complete decade younger than him and had only lived with him and their mother for the first year she was alive, before their musician father came and demanded custody of her. He never knew why Mother Wilkes obliged; she'd always spoken against the man and the kind of awful father he was.

"They sound great," Mr. Bucket replied, trying to remember the few things Wilkes had said about his sister.

The band was performing some song that had hit the charts the year before. Some teen pop song, which they'd played the drums heavier on, and turned up the bass. She was singing, and obviously enjoying herself. The band's platform was the spot in the entire place that was well lit enough to see real colors, and it was the bright colors everyone playing was dressed in that seemed to catch everyone's eyes. While the four men were each dressed in pinstripe suits, each of a different color, complete with matching bowler derbies, she was dressed in a dress that could barely be called such a garment that was striped with each of the four colors. Lime green, bright purple, orange, and a sort of buttercup colored yellow, flowed down the fabric of the halter topped garment. The v-neck of the front didn't stop just above her bosom though, as one might assume it should, but continued down between very close to her navel, but it was impossible to tell if it reached the spot as a thick piece of pink fabric went around her, starting just above her navel and continuing down to the tops of her hips, where the mid-thigh length flow of the skirt continued the striped pattern. To any normal person, the only nice things that one might say about her choice in clothing was that the cut flattered her curves very nicely and showed off her extremely eclectic side.

"Since you been gone, since you been gone, since you been gone," Lydia finished the song, though the guitarist standing only far enough away from her that his instrument didn't hit her, played on for five more seconds, which she counted out in her head, tapping her foot as she counted down.

When he finished, they spoke quickly, backing away from the microphones. She left the stage and he moved forwards, as the band started up the next song.

"This nex' song is _Chocolate_ an' i's by Snow Patrol," he told everyone in his thick British accent. Any hint of accent was gone as he began singing, "This could be the very minute, I'm aware I'm alive, all these places feel like home. With a name I'd never chosen, I can make my first steps, as a child of twenty-five..."

Lydia Wilkes was not an exceedingly tall woman, nor a very short one, she stood evenly at 5'7", and even with the three inch heels she was undoubtedly wearing, she was hidden as she walked through the dance floor, every other woman there was wearing heels just as tall. She's made a habit in her life of just appearing silently, passing by in just the same manner without making contact, and so it was Mrs. Wilkes, who had just joined her husband and three of their guests, that had gotten her attention.

" Lydia, dear, do come over," Mrs. Wilkes absolutely adored her young sister-in-law; in her mind, she'd idealized the life of the English singer and loved to hear Lydia's stories.

"Of course," bright smile flashed, teeth too perfect and white, but with her full red-painted lips the look was right. She leaned over at the same time as Mrs. Wilkes and air-kissed on each side, "Absolutely lovely party, dear, 'aving a wonderful time."

"And the boys?" Mrs. Wilkes had gone out of her way to make sure everyone had been comfortable while they stayed in the apartment built above the garage, always asking everyone if they needed anything, it was her way.

"Oh they're fine, Olie's being a real prat, 'e's gettin' aftah me for not havin' my hat, i's not like i's my fault 'e lost it, an' 'e's all 'would you mind gettin' us a bottle of firewisky while you're lookin' fur yur hat?' not givin' me a chance tah say no," she spoke matter of factly, forgetting to slow down her speech as she usually did when in the states, but Mrs. Wilkes understood her.

In fact several years before she'd watched every English film she could get her hands on and watched British comedy on PBS, as well as anything and everything on the BBC, just so that she could make sure she understand everything Lydia said. She loved listening to Lydia talk, there was always some interesting term that would slip out of the girl's mouth that she'd have no idea what it was. Eclecticism only in manner of dress was one thing, Lydia was an eclectic in every facet of her life, and her band mates were the same way. It was in that moment of thinking about her eclectic relative that she thought it might be in her better judgment to introduce her dearest sister-in-law to the rather strange gentleman that had come with the Buckets, and after a moment, she remembered his name, Willy, last name not given.

" Lydia, you haven't met the Buckets yet," she took the girl gently by the arm and turned her towards their guests. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Bucket, and their guest, Willy."

"Lydia Wilkes, i's a pleasure to meet you," Lydia told them, smiling and speaking with nothing but elegant charm. Her eyes fell on Willy, instantly she grinned, and with nothing but sincerity, she added, "I absolutely love your hat."

It was at that moment that the volume seemed to be turned up on the speakers and the chorus of _Andy, You're a Star_ seemed to have a tone of impatience to it. Lydia sent a glare over her shoulder before excusing her self. She left saying something about getting the firewhisky, which Mr. Wilkes had questioned, and she'd rolled her eyes saying she was sticking to butterbeer till midnight. She'd disappeared up the back stairs to the garage apartment, returning ten minutes later with two bottles, one of which was rather larger than the other.

Immediately, she'd disappeared, into the same crowed the Buckets and the Wilkes had each made their separate escapes into, though her path would lead her directly to the stage, which she took moments later, donning the guitarist's lime green derby.

"Ok, so Olie 'ere is a bit of a bum, I'm gonna do one of my fav'rites for you, a nice slow one song, with my friend Braden 'ere," she said into the microphone, as the young man dressed in buttercup yellow began playing the keyboard, on piano setting. "Love ridden, I've looked at you, with the focus I gave to my birthday candle. I've wished on the lidded blue flames under your brow, and baby I wished for you..."

It was then that one could hear just how versatile her voice was, she no longer sang with the voice of a pop star trying to be a rocker, but with the deep melody of the old women of jazz.

She finished her song and the three missing members of the band took their places again, Olie taking his hat off her head as she traded places and headed off the stage to retrieve her butterbeer. Then suddenly, she was at the buffet, where Willy had found himself trying the strange attempt at exotic foods.

"Are you enjoying the party?" she asked, looking over the assorted goods, before finally settling on a chocolate covered strawberry.

He looked at her for a moment, seriously considered telling her she was crazy. He was not a social person, and the situation at hand was not one he was particularly enjoying.

"Of course," he finally replied with his fake enthusiastic smile, the most extreme one he had up his sleeves, he hadn't had to use it since those awful kids had come to his factory.

She stared at him a moment, her face completely serious. Then she blinked, twice.

"Liar," she said simply, before taking a bite of another strawberry. She finished with the bit in her mouth and continued, "You 'ate this, too many people, don't know anyone, 'cept the Buckets, who are currently somewhere in tha' throng of people on tha' floor."

She was staring at him again, the seriousness not so heavy, but a glint in her eye, she knew she was right, he didn't have to tell her, and he didn't, he denied it to the end, but she only shook her head, smiled, and even laughed a little bit, but softly as though it wasn't him she was laughing at. The stood there for a moment in amiable silence, as she ate several more of the chocolate strawberries.

"Do you like chocolate?" he asked, after she had eaten her fifth strawberry.

"Oh, yes, very much," she smiled, "I always find it makes me feel better when I'm feelin' icky."

Then, at that moment, he wanted to know what she thought of Wonka chocolate, just as he did with every other person he met. It was a curious fascination he had, watching a person's eyes light up as they thought of their favorite Wonka candy.

"What do you think of, oh I don't know, Wonka chocolates?" he asked, trying to make it sound as though he didn't really care, and failing with some slightly higher pitch in his voice.

"Wonka, hmm, where 'ave I 'eard tha' before?" her face slipped briefly into one of concentration. "Oh, yes, tha's tha' factory downtown. I've never 'ad Wonka chocolate before. I usually stick with these chocolate frog things I get in London or this Belgian Organic Dark Chocolate. I's not really a good move on my part to get attached to too many kinds of candies, while they're good, I do eat too many of them."

She'd spoke the words that hit him the worst, 'never had Wonka chocolate,' and while he never actually had anyone say it to him before, he'd always imagine they would, but could never be prepared in case they did. He blinked, and instantly worked to appear as though it didn't affect him. He failed, not that he knew he'd done so, hiding emotions when they were present was difficult for him. He'd only made it through the last big social interaction, those kids in his factory, as somewhat callous because there weren't the emotions to hide, he could have cared less for them, and acted as such. He'd learned in the time he spent with the Buckets that if they paid attention to his reactions, they knew how he was feeling, but he didn't credit others with the ability to pay enough attention. Suddenly a new song started up, and she perked up, smiling, as her shoulders began moving.

"Would you like to dance?" she asked him, granting him her brilliant smile.

"I-I don't really dance," he lied quite obviously.

Of course he liked to dance, but not in front of people.

"Oh, come on, pretty please, i's my fave'rit song," she batted her eyelashes and pushed out her bottom lip, and his eyes caught sight of a tiny bit of chocolate that rested quite innocently very near the center of her bottom lip.

"Alright," he finally agreed, and soon his cane was leaning against a chair that his suit jacket was hanging on the back of.

She took his hand and led him into the throng. They'd found a small space soon and were playing with a mix between a tango and a swing, with the throw in of a bit of cha-cha every now and then.

_You take your white finger _

_Slide the nail under _

_The top and bottom buttons _

_Of my blazer _

_Relax the faying wool _

_Slacken ties and I'm _

_Not to look at you in the shoe _

_But the eyes, find the eyes _

_Find me and follow me _

_Through corridors, refectories and files _

_You must follow, leave _

_This academic factory _

_You will find me in the Matinee _

_The dark of the Matinee _

_It's better in the Matinee _

_The dark of the Matinee is mine _

_Yes it's mine _

Right hand found her waste and rested gently, her own right hand sitting softly upon his shoulder. Left hands clasped, the only part touching as she was spun. Then close again. A box step for a small bit, but it turned into more of a large circle, being interrupted every now and then by a spin or a dip, or some other imaginative step.

_I time every journey _

_To bump into you _

_Accidentally I _

_Charm you and tell you _

_Of the boys I hate _

_All the girls I hate _

_All the words I hate _

_All the clothes I hate _

_How I'll never be anything I hate _

_You smile, mention something that you like _

_How you'd have a happy life _

_If you did the things you like _

Normally her favorite song, she lost track of the lyrics as he spun her outwards, and then she was coming back and dipped to the side, one fluent movement. The song was long, she knew it, loved it, especially as the dance continued.

He was enjoying himself at this party, finally. The crowed didn't bother him anymore, and while everyone hadn't formed a circle to watch them dance, which would have ended the mesmerizing moment immediately, they had been given their space to do as they would on the floor. Every move he could think of, she seemed to anticipate, and match him step for step.

_Find me and follow me _

_Through corridors, refectories and files _

_You must follow, leave _

_This academic factory _

_You will find me in the Matinee _

_The dark of the Matinee _

_It's better in the Matinee _

_The dark of the Matinee is mine _

_Yes it's mine _

The song was over, and she knew somehow she'd missed an entire verse and a repetition of the chorus, it didn't matter. As it was, they'd ended the song quite close, and a slight bit tangled together. Not that either minded.

"I should get back up there," she said softly as they separated. "Thank you for the dance."

"Thank you," he said, receiving another smile, before she disappeared into the crowed again, reappearing on stage.

She picked up a hot pink guitar that had been leaning against a stand on the side of the platform and took her place, where Olie had stood earlier while she'd sung. She was playing and Olie had discarded his own guitar on the same rack she'd picked hers up from. She started playing, with nothing more than a steady beat from the drummer in the back ground.

"Jessie is a friend, yea I know he's been a good friend of mine, but lately something's changed, getting hard to define. Jessie's got himself a girl, and I wanna make her mine, and she's watchin' him with those eyes, and she's lovin' him with that body, I just know it, and he's holding her in his arms late-late at night," she was dancing as she played, losing herself in the moment.

She was all he saw as he's regained his cane, leaning on it unnecessarily, though the suit jacket did not make its way back on. He was finally noticing the heat of summer, and there was a nice scotch on rocks in his hands to help fight the battle. It was then that he wondered how the band could wear the suits, something everyone else had been wondering since they'd started playing.

Every move that she made seemed to be part of some single fluid movement residing merely in the gracefulness that encased her. While he knew he still did not like her too entirely much, she had after all not known of _the_ single most famous chocolate company in the country, if not the world, which he took personally, he found he enjoyed her far more than anyone else at the party, excluding the Buckets. He found himself waiting for her descend from the stage again, and knew, that when she did, she'd come his way.

It seemed surreal, at least to those truly paying attention to her, a number that existed as two. Her fingers played out the rock beat of the next song, her eyes closed, and she moved like time never existed. She stood directly beneath one of the lights, looking vulnerable. It was quite obvious, she wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, the young wives of the toothpaste factory managers present at the party had her beat out ten fold. She didn't have to be the prettiest thing though. She obviously didn't care, and that made all the difference. Her face was a perfect oval shape, with eyes also perfectly shaped, but the color just an ordinary brown, the shape of her nose was a slight bit round, and her cheek bones weren't model high, but that was alright, her perfections and imperfections worked for her. Around her head fell shoulder length dark chocolate colored hair, shaped like something out of _The Mary Tyler Moore Show_.

"I woke up today. Nothing's changed, though nothings the same. I look out my window, I should've known, nothing but clouds, nothing but rain. Two pots of coffee, I'm on my way. I'm over worked, and I'm under paid. But this isn't my life, this isn't who I'm supposed to be. What happen to my life? What has happened to me?" Olie had watched her as he sang, she played alone through the first verse, then he looked out again, at the party, where no one seemed to notice every time they changed songs, or even the tone of the song, unless it was extremely obvious that it was a slow song.

He watched, though he didn't particularly like the songs they played. Then the song was over and she was gone, as was the man who'd been singing. The man playing base had taken the singer's guitar and place at the microphone. He and the other two were playing some song of their own choosing. It was a rather fun song, perfect for dancing. Then two more dancers hit the floor, the song really started.

"Alright fellas, lets go," the bass player began singing.

_Oh, it's been getting' so hard _

_ Living with the things you do to me _

_Oh, ho _

_Well things are getting' so strange _

_I like to tell you everything I see _

_Oh, I see a man in the back _

_AS a matter of fact _

_His eyes are as red as the sun _

_And a girl in the corner _

_Let no one ignore her _

_'Cause she thinks she's the passionate one _

He had no doubt she was a dancer, her tall heels barely seemed to touch the floor as she was led through the dance steps.

"You tricked me, yuh know tha' right?" English accent scolded. "Tha' was firewhisky, I can't drink firewhisky."

Another new song, he'd glanced at his watch while they last song had been playing, he'd been there for several hours, surprisingly it hadn't felt nearly that long.

"I didn't trick you, luv, you knew what it was," another English accent, male this time, laughed.

"Oh, go on, you wanted to be the one to sing tonight, go sing," she demanded.

"Frog?" he asked.

"Of course, I'm getting' a bit of a headache, three shots? Wha' made you think tha'd be a good idea?" scolding again.

"Sorry, sorry, not again, I promise."

"Liar."

"You know me too well."

"Oh, shut-up and get goin'."

"I'm goin', I'm goin'."

"Are you enjoying yourself yet?" she was asking him, and he barely kept himself from jumping just a bit, she'd caught him off guard.

He looked at her, but didn't answer. He wasn't particularly enjoying himself, it should've been obvious, and it was.

"This music not much your taste?" she asked.

He nodded once; he didn't like the music at all.

"They're gonna play sum Glen Miller, aftah this," she told him, adding before he could silently respond. "Would you like to dance?"

"Alright," he agreed, and she smiled; he couldn't help but smile as well.

She held a strange box in her hand; it looked like paper, and was folded like a pyramid. When she opened it, it seemed like whatever was in it tried to jump out, she caught it, obviously expecting that action. He hadn't seen it, but he could smell chocolate.

"Chocolate?" he asked, wanting to know if another company had found a way to rip off his chocolate birds, which he'd halted production on once Slugworth put out one.

"Uh, yes, i's a frog," she told him, something in her tone a bit nervous.

"It moved, like those chocolate birds Wonka used to make," he tried to sound casual as he spoke of himself as though he were someone else, he failed, his voice going up a notch higher, and he failed in pretending it was completely normal by throwing in a nervous chuckle.

"Oh, I've never 'eard of those, I doubt 'e made them the same way though," she passed it off like it was nothing to make chocolate move, and held out a chocolate frog leg towards him, it was still moving, even after being detached.

"Oh really?" he asked, knowing there was only one way to make chocolate move like that, taking it in his hand, but not trying it, not yet anyways.

"Oh, yes, they've been making Chocolate Frogs for nearly a century now back in London," she finished and bit down into the head, the part in her hand stopped moving then, though the remaining back leg seemed to still be trying to jump.

He ate his piece, it was like no chocolate he'd ever had, other than his own of course. No comparison, they were so different, yet very similar. He wondered if they mixed their chocolate by waterfall.

"And how do you suppose they make these?" he asked, remembering her comment of only a moment ago.

"Magic," she said simply, speaking as though it were nothing, but he could see the fine hairs on her arms begin to stand up, and it was much to hot for her to be cold.

He imagined her then with the witch's hat, his dear friend, Madame Malkin, had sent him, upon her head. Then the complete idea for the new ad campaign filtered through his mind, she would make a good witch, he was sure of it, and knew that his friend could fit her with the best style of robes.

When the next song started, Olie picked up a trumpet, and the bass player switched to trombone, the missing instruments being backed up from some unknown source. _In the Mood_ by Glen Miller started up, and she proved her ability to dance once again.

* * *

A week had passed since the party had ended. She couldn't remember much after that third shot of firewhisky, there were only a few things she was sure of. She'd gone back to dance with Willy, she'd given him her number, and, somewhere along the line, she'd kissed him on the cheek. She didn't even know his name really, only the nickname Willy. It frustrated her, and while there had been a potion for her hangover in the morning, there was nothing to obtain the missing moments, regaining lost memories after firewhisky was next to impossible, even for a witch. 

She was frustrated and bored, having had nothing to do for the past week; she'd gone through a new hair color every day just trying to lighten her own mood. The town they were in was too small, too quiet and her mother refused to even see her. The boys had aparated to London already, had gone to the beaches outside LA, but she wasn't in the mood. What she wanted was to find Willy. She knew that he was older than her, she guessed somewhere around her brother's age, not knowing that he six years older than her sibling. Not that she cared, age wasn't a problem for her, and never had been. She'd bought several different bars of Wonka chocolate, just to try, and found that it really was quite good.

It was already four am; everyone else in the garage apartment was asleep. They'd magically enlarged it so that all five of them could live there comfortably with their own spaces. John had thrown a fit, but they'd broken him down by making up stories about how they'd all share a bed, which was more than enough to make him crack. Along with the space changing spells, they'd put silencing spells up, so that they wouldn't disturb each other as they had a tendency to do. She was glad for these spells they put up, it would ensure that Olie wouldn't be able to try and stop her before she was finished.

She wasn't doing anything illegal, no drugs or suicide attempts, nothing that could actually harm anyone, merely make her a little luckier. She was brewing a Felix Felicis potion, she'd take enough to last her part of the day with breakfast and find out exactly what was taking so long to start happening. She was ready to get moving, find out what was going on. There wasn't any way she was sticking in town any longer than she had to without something good on her side.

* * *

The following morning, she was up first, just as she was every morning. When they'd moved in together after graduation, she had immediately taken it upon herself to make sure they ate breakfast every morning. For the other meals there was always someone to pitch in, but breakfast, if she didn't make it, no one ate. After she'd eaten her morning apple, she downed part of the vial of potion she'd set aside only hours before.

She'd barely even started on putting together the batter for pancakes when Olie came out. Glancing at the clock, she knew it was him that changed schedules, she was right on time and no one but her should be up for half an hour.

"You didn't," he glared accusingly, and she knew what he was talking about.

"What are you goin' to do about i' if I did?" she asked, glaring right back. "You know wha', I don't wan' to 'ear about it."

"That's just the potion, that bloody potion controls you," he snapped back.

"No, i' doesn't, not completely, not any more. Righ' now, i's telling me to leave, we're goin' to say things tha' are goin' to 'urt, I know we are, we're due for I'," she told him, continuing to stir the pancake batter, it was the only way she could force herself to stay.

"Why would you even take it? Three times so far and each time something bad happens."

"I know, but each time tha' something bad was you, and I 'ave moved on, and unless you want to make breakfast for the sleeping beauties, I suggest you le' i' go as well," she was being stern, and she knew she'd leave before she'd finished breakfast, the potion had changed paths, going after the next bit of luck.

"You just can't let things happen as they should, can you?"

"Tha' sounds like fate, and aren' you the one who doesn't believe in fate? And how the bloody 'ell did you even know in the firs' place?"

"The vial on the counter," he pointed to the partially filled vial.

She put the bowl down, knowing the arguments would happen, whether then or later. She was tired, quite tired, all of a sudden, and in a good mood for some chocolate. From the kitchen, she went into her room and changed into a pair of jeans with the design of a dragon embroidered up one leg. She left the simple white blouse she'd been wearing on and pulled on her thin leather jacket, it was a cool rainy day out. It was her favorite jacket, having the perfect sized pockets for her wallet, and a slip hole in one of the sleeves that she could put her wand into without it irritating her arm as she went through the day. As she tied the jacket, she smiled at the look the short jacket and snug jeans gave her. After slipping on a pair of boots, she was running through the apartment, hoping that Olie would get the hint.

The garage below held three vehicles, a ride-on lawnmower and innumerous tools. The vehicles consisted of an SUV that belonged to Joan, the truck that John drove to work, which was where he was at the moment, and a motorcycle he only used occasionally. The motorcycle had been one of the only things they'd ever really gotten along about; she loved them just as much as he did. It was the motorcycle she used the few times she'd been in town, and those were the keys she detached from a loop on her wallet as she slipped in through the door at the end of the stairs.

A simple water repellant charm ensured that John wouldn't be after her for taking the bike out in the rain, and she was gone. It wasn't long before fringes of the center of town were speeding behind her.

It was at the quaint little candy store that she finally came to a stop. The store was lit, but no one was visible through the window and she found the door to be locked. She stood for a moment on the sidewalk beside the motorcycle, and then looked at her watch, it read 7:25. Too early for chocolate. It was raining out, and she had no where to go; it wasn't a very lucky moment. She slid her hands into pockets, not entirely of her own accord, and glanced up at the window of the candy store. There, stuck to the glass, was a brightly colored poster.

Dear musicians,

The Wonka Chocolate company is looking

for a spokeswoman to represent a new line

of candies. In search for the perfect spokeswoman

auditions will be held at the Werner Conference Center

beginning July 11th at 8 am.

Requirements:

-previous dance experience

-previous singing experience

(375) 735-7293 for information

"Oh, bloody 'ell, I can't do tha', the Felix Felicis, it wouldn' be fair," she mumbled to herself, pulling her hands out of her jacket pockets, feeling, as she did so, a thick piece of paper, a business card.

Willy Wonka

Wonka Chocolates

, Illinois

She tried to think back to the last time she'd worn the jacket and realized it would have been the night of her brother's party. On the night of a performance, they'd use cooling charms to make sure they didn't feel any excess heat. While she'd always been good at potions, and nearly as good at transfiguration, it was her charms that often left something to be desired. Each time she used the cooling charm, around four she'd get a blast of freezing cold before it wore of quickly. The Willy she'd met had been _that_ Willy, well, that did explain why he kept bringing up Wonka chocolates. There wasn't a number or anything written in the brightly colored font on the front, so she flipped it over. Idly, she wondered if he would have added his number on the back, maybe because he deemed her worthy of receiving it. There, in a quick tiny script was a small note.

Wonka Auditions July 11th

Come at 2pm with this card.

735-7293

STEP 3.

2pm. She'd taken only half a teaspoon and it took two tablespoons to last the whole day. She'd be cleared, she'd be _lucky_ if it lasted through lunch. Instead, she could find somewhere to get some breakfast and then go to the local music store to find a song. It wouldn't hurt if she was still on the Felix Felicis for just that small bit. Plus, she needed to find a new portable CD player that would work for awhile.

Her morning proved to be a fruitful one, the potion lasting till just after she'd purchased the CD with the song she'd chosen. It was still raining, so she went ahead to the conference center, planning on finding a corner there to get the music down before she went in. She knew the song well enough, as well as the piano music that went with it by heart, but practicing it would be better than just going in winging it, especially since the potion had worn off. She figured though that lunch might also be a good idea and found a restaurant she'd eaten at before to eat lunch at before she went to the conference center.

The lobby of the building was packed with women of all ages. The nearest room had a sign with the words "Registration: Step 1." The card had Step 3 written on it, she glanced around, and finally caught sight of a room with the label of "Practice Room" on the doors. When she tried to enter, a rather scrawny man stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"I'm sorry Miss, but you need your entrance papers saying that you've passed the first step," he told her, giving her a disapproving look.

"Really?" she drawled, she saw that he was nicely surprised by her accent, she assumed most of the applicants were American. Then, pulling the business card out of her pocket, she held it up between her crossed index and middle fingers, "Well, I don' suppose this note from Mr. Wonka saying something about Step 3, whatever tha' is, would be of any help, would i?"

"Of course, Miss, go right in," he nodded, stepping out of her way.

By one-thirty, the group that had instantly been moved onto the second step, only passing the initial review of resume and getting through the door, was learning the choreographed steps that they'd be required to perform by the end of the hour. The steps reminded her of the dance lessons she'd taken before going away to school and had continued during summer holiday. It wasn't until the woman directing the group of twenty girls came into view that she realized why.

"Madame Tulon," she smiled and greeted the older French woman, during the period the girls were given to practice the steps.

" Lydia, ah, dear, what are you doing here?" the woman smiled instantly greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I am auditioning, I was given an invitation to come an' audition," she replied, returning her former instructor's greeting with as much warmth.

"You are not going to be doing this, are you?" Tulon asked, motioning towards the group, only a few of which had actually picked up the steps.

"No, I was given a pass to the third level, not tha' I really ge' the way everything is se' up around 'ere," Lydia told her.

"Ah, it is Willy's idea, brilliant formula to weed out the ones who obviously wouldn't get it," she said his name as though he were an old friend.

"You know Mr. Wonka? I was wondering what you were doin' 'ere," Lydia commented.

"Ah, yes, he was a student of mine as well, very good, could pick things up just like that," a snap to emphasize. "Like you. The two of you would make beautiful dance partners. Are you and Olie still around together? It was like you were made for one another."

"Could you show us the steps again?" one of the girls asked, she was easily one of the youngest of the group, appearing to be only about fifteen. "Olie and I are the band together, but that's it for us. There's nothing there, hasn't been for a long time."

"Uh, these girls are nothing like the students I take on," she told Lydia quietly, reminding the English girl of her former instructors exclusivity. "You must remember the steps, show them."

"Oh, I don't know if I remember, i's been so long," Lydia replied, knowing that if asked again, she'd perform the steps just as well as she'd learned them, which was formidably well considering who'd taught her, it wouldn't be good for her to do the steps for them, she _was_ the competition.

"Of course you do, now show them," the older woman admonished.

She stepped out away from the instructor, and, as soon as the music began at the beginning of its loop again, did the steps she remembered well. It made her feel somewhat guilty, she'd known the steps from memory. She'd had the difficult dance instructor, who had taught exclusively witches and wizards with talent for many years. These girls, some of them probably older than Lydia herself, seemed like children, unprepared for the competition. It was a good thing she'd been passed beyond this step of the process.

Dance instruction under Madame Tulon had always had the ability to rob her of her awareness of the world around her, except whatever the harsh voice of her instructor, which had come at a somewhat painful price quite early in her lessons. It was there, lost in the world of the music and concentrating on doing the steps in her clunky boots that she had missed the arrival of Willy Wonka himself.

There was the empty sound of one person clapping, as she finished. She saw the group of girls, and took in their glares, understanding that they felt she was cheating somehow in the contest they were all trying to win, but she ignored it. Moving as though on autopilot, she stretched into the bow she had always given at the end of a lesson. She stood straight, her posture perfect, as she returned her attention to Madame Tulon. It was then that she realized there was a man standing beside the woman, it was Willy, and she felt she was perfectly correct in believing he was the famous Willy Wonka.

"I feel like i's been absolutely ages since I've done tha'," she smiled, and felt where several of the movements had stretched somewhat unused muscles. "And I seem to have forgotten the usefulness of stretching before dancing. I doubt I'll be making that mistake again."

"You always did have to learn by action," she was smiling, Madame Tulon _never_ smiled over a performance, she never clapped and she never praised, no matter how good, it was to ensure that her students knew she was always critical, and it was the knowledge of these facts that led Lydia to believe that it was instead Mr. Wonka who had clapped, there was no other it could have been.

"And I' 'as served me well throughou' the years," she returned the rare smile.

Madame Tulon wrapped an arm around her waist and turned her to face Mr. Wonka. She was still smiling. The whole moment was making Lydia rather nervous.

" Lydia, this is Monsieur Wonka," she introduced, "Willy, this is Lydia, one of my most prized students, if you want a girl who can dance, you'll find no better on this continent."

"Oh, bu' I canno' remember most o' the steps," Lydia told her, knowing exactly how to tease the usually strict woman.

"Of course you do, you were one of my students, no?" the smile finally changed to a firm glare.

"And I pray every day tha' I might 'ave a memory as amazingly wonderful as yours, bu' I am very sure tha' it is not working," she pressed on.

"Oh, you must forget I ever even mentioned her skills, she is not worth the recommendation, her tongue is far too sharp, like bed of nails," she was teasing back.

"Oh, bu' i' should not matter, for I do believe I 'ave met Monsieur Wonka already," Lydia told her. Pulling the card out of her pocket and holding it towards him, she asked, "I' was you, who gave me this card, was i' not?"

"Yes, of course, that's one of mine," he smiled that fake smile, he was not comfortable.

It was then, and Lydia would forever be thankful for it, that one of the younger girls auditioning lobbed herself at Wonka, clinging with a tight hug. Wonka would have also been grateful had it not been for the fact that _he_ was the one the girl threw herself at. There was a large fuss suddenly, people introducing themselves to him, the employees of the company he'd employed to help with the process prying the girls away, and a young boy standing off to the side laughing quietly about the whole scene. Before everything had even come close to calming down, she'd realized it was nearly two o'clock and slipped back out to the registration room to find out exactly what she was supposed to be doing. The number of women already at the third level was drastically smaller than the number she'd seen trying for the second, but then, they hadn't finished with that, and from what she'd been told, they'd be working on getting to the final five possibilities for the next three days.

She was supposed to go into a closed sound stage, set up somewhat like a recording studio at exactly three that afternoon. If she'd registered earlier, she'd have been higher on the list, but she brushed it off and went into the bathroom to transfigure a receipt in her wallet into an interesting novel. As a result of the big to do in the practice room, the step three auditions were delayed for a half hour, as Wonka himself wished to be present, he'd know best the moment they opened their mouths if they would be good or not.

"Ladies, sorry for the delay, Step three will beginning now," an older woman with a strict bun and black rimmed glasses told the group of women sitting in one of the smaller halls. "You will be required to perform one song. You only _get_ to perform one song. There will be a piano and guitar available, if you play, go ahead, but doing so can either help you or hurt you depending on how well you play. If you're told you're done, leave, _you're done_. Marty Blain, you're up first."

* * *

As Willy Wonka and his protégé, Charlie Bucket, took their seats in the small room that the close circuit feed of the sound stage led too, the chocolatier glared at the boy, who hadn't been able to stop the laughing. Nearly the moment Marty Blain walked into the small room, Wonka had reached out and hit the button, which alerted someone standing outside the door of the soundstage to come in and tell the occupant to leave. The laughter had completely left Charlie at that moment, he realized correctly that most of the following auditions would be exactly like that. Willy would get rid of many of them for one reason or another before they'd barely started, if they even got that far. It wasn't until Lydia, sporting the pink hair the same color as the cotton candy sheep that had thrown Willy off when Madame Tulon introduced them, that anyone made it entirely through their song. Several others throughout the next few days made it, but only enough to complete the final five; there was no need for any other set of steps in place.

It had been obvious to Charlie that she had a better chance than anyone they'd seen in the hour before her, when she sat down at the piano and Willy didn't immediately move his hand over the buzzer. In his defense though, none of the ones who'd previously attempted to play any music along had been able to play with any real talent. The introduction was short, staying within the middle range of keys and keeping simple. When she started singing, she sang softly into the microphone over the piano, having positioned it to where she wouldn't have to strain her voice to be louder.

* * *

"I was stained with a role in a day not my own. as you walked into my life, you showed what needed to be shown. I always knew what was right, I just didn't know that I might peal away and choose to see with such a different sight," she sang, pausing only a moment for a breath, her breaths between lines nearly inaudible. "And I will never see the sky the same way, and I will learn to say good bye to yesterday, and I will never cease to fly if held down, and I will always reach too high, 'cause I've seen…'cause I've seen twilight.  
"Never cared. Never wanted. Never sought to see what flaunted. So on purpose, so in my face, couldn't see beyond my own place, and it was so easy not be behold what I could hold, but you taught me I could change whatever came within these shallow days. And I will never see the sky the same way, and I will learn to say good bye to yesterday, and I will never cease to fly if held down, and I will always reach too high, 'cause I've seen…'cause I've seen…  
"As the sun shines through, it pushes away and pushes ahead. Fills the warmth of blue, and leaves a chill instead and I didn't know that I could be so blind to all that is so real, but as illusion dies I see there is so much to be revealed. And I will never see the sky the same way, and I will learn to say good bye to yesterday, and I will never cease to fly if held down, and I will always reach too high, 'cause I've seen…'cause I've seen twilight.  
"I was stained with a role in a day not my own, as you walked into my life, you showed what needed to be shown. I always knew what was right, I just didn't know that I might peal away and choose to see with such a different sight. And I will never see the sky the same way, and I will learn to say good bye to yesterday, and I will never cease to fly if held down, and I will always reach too high, 'cause I've seen…'cause I've seen…twilight."

* * *

"Thank you for you time," she said simply, as she stood and nodded her head low. 

She left the room quietly, adding nothing else, the others that were able to complete their performances were not as completely professional as she was at that moment. She was the only professional singer that had made it that far, any other hadn't passed Wonka's strict decision making skills. Any little thing had sent his hand for the buzzer, though several times, he'd let Charlie choose for himself that the person wasn't the right choice, they'd discussed each woman as she left, making sure each were clear of the flaws in the dismissed person.

* * *

"She's a witch," Wonka told Charlie. 

"How do you know?" he asked; she wasn't dressed like any witch he'd met.

"She knew Madame Tulon. Madame Tulon does not teach muggles," he replied simply, as he thought about it; it would make things easier, her being a witch.

* * *

On the evening of the third day, July 13th, the five young ladies left were gathered in the room from which the Misters Wonka and Bucket had made their decisions from. Neither were present when the women gathered, and took to their own thing. Lydia found herself by the window looking out. She'd glanced at her watch before going in and was wanting the whole thing to hurry up so that she might head home. Dinner would be ready, and they guys would be eating in front of the telly watching a football game her father had taped and sent them. It was something she'd wanted to watch with them, but had told them to start if she hadn't arrived home by 7 that night; it was already 7:30.

When Wonka and his protégé walked in, the other women focused so completely upon them that they weren't able to tell the group anything. She'd watched from her spot by the window, these girls now surrounding the two males had avoided her, but she'd recognized them all as being from the group that had watched her dance for Madame Tulon. They were avoiding her for good reason, if she appeared to be more of an outcast and an introvert, it could drastically lower her chances of getting the spot from them.

"'Ow long is this goin' to take?" she asked, turning her head away from the window, the lock of hair left out of her pony-tale flying away from her face before settling once again right along the line of the edge of her eye to the corner of her mouth. "Some of us 'ave places we need to get back to tonigh'."

It wasn't completely true; she was the only one looking forwards to anything other than the audition process for those three days. The other girls had devoted themselves completely, believing it would make them more appealing offers. There was silence anyways, they were giving her a chance to dig her grave and lay in it right before them.

"Ye-yes, of course, if we could just have some peace for a moment," Willy nodded after a moment, agreeing with her about hurrying the process; he was more than grateful the process was at its end. Turning to the boy, he asked, "Charlie, wo-would you like to…"

Charlie stepped forwards, he didn't like the idea of turning people away and only choosing one out of so many, but it had to be done, and he mentor was having a hard enough time saying the few things he'd actually said, much less telling them news that might make them _cling_ to him out of grief.

"All of you were very talented, unfortunately, we could only choose one of you," he said, using the words his mother had helped him pick out, so as to seem as nice as possible. Then, holding up the thick contract Willy had handed him before they entered, he continued, "Miss Lydia Wilkes, this is the contract for the position of spokeswoman for Wonka's newest _Magic of Chocolate _candy line."

The room was silent, for a moment. Charlie had paused, giving everyone time to let his words sink in. He was right to do so, because it took the moment's pause for the other young ladies to realize _who_ exactly Lydia Wilkes was. It was she, the one they'd killed themselves trying to outdo, though originally it hadn't been her they'd tried to outdo, but she hadn't been as frontward as some of the ones that had gotten dropped before they'd even reached the third step.

"Thank you," she said simply, finally, in her crisp accent, finalizing the entire ordeal.

"You will be giving one week in which to sign," Mr. Wonka told her, he didn't have to pay any attention to the others any more. "After that time, it will go on to the next choice."

"A week is far too long," she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You'll know sooner."

The room was tense; she wasn't bouncing with enjoyment as the girls thought she should be. She was taking it as though it had happened a million times before, and in their eyes, they believed it had happened to her repeatedly. They had no knowledge that she did not even enter the doors without one of her friends with her for any audition, that she found little enjoyment in the decision that now lay before her. She had come out of curiosity, wondering exactly what it was she was being invited to and how far she'd get, she'd almost hoped that she'd loose.

She let her arms fall and smiled completely, she appeared the perfect picture in that moment. After all, she had been an actress on occasion; she could pretend everything was fine until it really wasn't. It seemed to be the reaction everyone had been waiting for, as the tension immediately broke, though Wonka still seemed just as uncomfortable. The other girls were ushered out and she was given a card with a number written on it that she should call once she'd come to her decision. Then, as she herself was about to make an exit, Wonka asked the one question anyone who'd been at her brother's party had asked.

"D-do you perform your _own_ songs?" he stuttered slightly, and she found it cute, in a childish way, it seemed fitting that he was nervous around strangers.

"Occasionally, usually my band performs songs written by the others, I'm not very confident about my own," she answered honestly, though her smile was gone. "I need to leave now; I'm late for something at home."

She hurried out; she did not like discussing her reasons for not performing her own songs. It was all rooted in some deep fear of not living up to her father's name. She'd gone over the psycho babble behind it with Braden, her confidant in the group, many a time. Unfortunately, knowing the root of the problem had no affect on the outcome. No one heard her songs but the band, though she did help with the group songs, they all did.

* * *

**End notes:** I'm going on the basis that the factory is in the US. This is based on the fact that the only person to have an accent was Charlie, everybody else sounded pretty American (except for the kids that were obviously from other countries, though Veruca didn't sound as British as she could have). I've also found this website with this address in their trivia thing to the factory saying it's in Illinois, so if I ever need to say a state for any weird reason, that's what I'll be using. Otherwise it's "small town" and they celebrate American Holidays. 

Just thought I'd say the original version of this before the FF.N layout changes was 18 pages, this one is 21, that's three pages added because I had to undo my indents and put enters between the paragraphs. It kind of makes me sad. I'd love to hear what you have to sat.

**Songs**:  
"Since You Been Gone," by Kelly Clarkson  
"Chocolate" by Snow Patrol  
"Andy, You're A Star" by The Killers  
"Love Ridden" by Fiona Apple  
"The Dark of the Matinee" by Franz Ferdinand  
"Jessie's Girl" by Rick Springfield  
"Turn up the Radio" by Die Trying  
"Ballroom Blitz" by Sweet  
"In the Mood" by Glen Miller  
"Twilight" by Vanessa Carlton


	2. Chapter 2: Just Like Dorothy

**A/N: **I just realized I should amend my spoilers thing, my characterization is based off of a mix of Gene Wilder, mainly because I know him the most, as well as Johnny Depp. The mix is a little off balance, I must say. See, Gene, he gave us an adult who was really cool, if not pretty sadistic, but Johnny gave us this child in an adult's body. So really, I'm doing a good deal of the adult of Gene, but the germaphobe, recluse, child of Johnny is a very good controlling factor for much of Willy's actions. Safe to say, I've only seen the movie once and my powers of memorization have been dulled this summer with the contamination of being a cashier who tries to memorize all the PLU codes for produce (there are too many kinds of pears and peaches out there, I mean really, do we need nine different pairs, and don't get me started on apples). This will most likely be my last update before I go family visiting for two weeks, so good-bye sniffles until I reach school. While I'm gone, please leave lots of messages, it will make me very happy and I should have lots written by hand when I get back.

**Moonbean**: I didn't notice your review until after I posted this, so I've come back in to leave you a message, thanks for the review first of all, I forgot about the pense thing in the book, but in the newest movie all I can remember thinking is, oh that looks like a dollar (but it's been a month, so I'll admit, I'm probably wrong). I'm guessing that's it's all just how I perceve things, I have a harder time noticing things in the way people talk. Thanks for pointing that out, so I'll make sure I go with that the factory is in England whenever I sketch other things out, but for the workings of this story, I'm going to keep it in America. Thanks for the ego boosting, sry if I sound...read...a little weird, just a wee bit tired.

**_Edited 8/22/05 for consistency in accents, thanks moonbean, hope this comes out better, I really appreciate your help. _**

* * *

"If I sign this, I'll be leavin' the band," she told Braden, the pianist/keyboardist of the band, as they sat at the small bar in the side of the living room.

"I'm not surprised," he replied indifferently, pouring them each another shot of tequila from a bottle that had been obviously favored amongst the group.

She always went over her problems with Braden, he always knew exactly what to say, and the air of indifference he'd always spoke with made it all seem easier to her. The contract, that now sat in front of her on the black granite, had been in her possession for nearly twenty-eight hours. She'd read it through completely once and skimmed it to assure different thoughts throughout the day at least twice an hour or so of the last twenty.

"We were wondering how long it'd take before you and Olie had the final battle and you left," he told her.

"We didn' fight, i's jus' time, and wha' made you think i'd be me tuh leave?" she was indignant, they only thought she'd leave, not Olie, maybe it was just what they wanted; then again, she was a _tad_ bit drunk.

"You've got your own plans," he explained. "You've already made a name, while small, still a name, in the muggle world, we've all just followed you around under the guise of it being Olie's decision to go somewhere or do something."

"Now tha's not true, you guys 'ave always done your share, i' 'asn' always been abou' me," she replied, still indignant, the guts of him, trying to make this all about her being…her, maybe, she wasn't too sure any more.

"Who went and got a job as a waitress in a muggle restaurant, when we were in LA with no money, and _then_ went and did small parts on _two_ TV shows? You did,' he pointed out, choosing his words as though he were boosting the confidence of a child, it had been his idea for the tequila, so he was forced to indulge her intoxicated side.

"I only go' a job so tha' I wouldn't 'ave to call my father, an' i' wasn' like you guys 'ad muggle identifications as well as American citizenship, and those roles were only minor," she reasoned out everything he'd told her, no ego boosting for her, but the words were obviously worn and used often.

"Take the job," Braden told her firmly, grabbing the bottle and pouring them each another shot.

"Alrigh' I will," she agreed, before downing the alcohol in one large gulp.

* * *

She did take the job, but it was nearly seventy-two hours from the time that she'd gotten the contract that she actually called Wonka. She'd apparated to Diagon Alley and done some shopping in both magical and muggle London, before calling him. The kitchen table was still covered in bags, when he arrived at the apartment.

"Comin'," she yelled, as she came out of her room and down the hall.

She had throught that one of the guys might get the door, but, when the doorbell was rung a second time, she remembered they weren't there. They'd apparated to London themselves, though they were attending their own audition. She was wearing a slimming white sundress sans bra, not expecting anyone to come at nearly seven.

"'Ello," she said, the moment she began opening the door, not bothering to look first, when she saw who it was, she continued, "Would you like to come in? The contract is in the living room, _somewhere_."

She seemed to sigh the last word, as though it had been of no control of her own that she could pinpoint exact placements. The door was opened wider, as she stepped aside letting him by. He came in and took off his had, but only so that he might remove the peculiar goggles he'd worn, afterwards the hat was immediately placed back on his head. She led him through the kitchen, which the entry door opened into, past a long kitchen island into the space that was used as part living room part bar. She'd thought nothing of the paper wrapped package of robes from Madame Malkins' sitting amongst the shopping bags, nor of the fact that the logos on the paper bags were from stores that it was hardly possible to get to from the small town. It was an underestimation on her part of just howmuch he'd take in as he walked through, but he took it all in, he wasn't an untrusting genius for nothing.

He stood rather stiffly as she rummaged through papers on the coffee table. It wasn't till she moved to look on the bar that she even noticed.

"You can si', if you'd like," she told him.

"N-no, no, no," he replied, glancing around the room with unnecessary disdain.

While there _was_ a pile of papers, newspapers, and magazines, the reset of the room was immaculate. The amount of furniture was kept down to only what was necessary, several places to sit on plush black leather, several tables on which to put things, the bar, obvious necessity, and an entertainment center, which held TV and stereo equipment in a strangely organized mix.

"I 'aven't signed i' yet incase a witness was necessary, as well as the fac' tha' I was 'opin' to discuss several things with you," she told him, sitting down in one of the two chairs. Then, glancing from him to the nearby couch, she added in a push sort of tone, "This may take a while, depending on 'ow agreeable you are abou' alterin' this thing."

"Uh, al-alright," he nodded, sitting down rather stiffly on the center of the couch.

"Abou' this modesty clause," she said, jumping right to her biggest problem. "I don' like i', and I won' sign with i' there."

He watched as she flipped to the page of the contract that the part in question resided on. She'd drawn a box around the entire section and then put a large 'x' from corner to corner. His contract the contract he'd spent so many hours working out the perfect wording and everything on, she'd gone and carelessly drawn and crossed out bits. He didn't speak for a moment, forcing himself to stay on the topic at hand, it was necessary that he at least pretend to be the most grown up grown-up he'd ever known. The modesty clause, it was a common practice, she shouldn't have argued it, Wonka Chocolates did have an image to uphold after all.

"Now, that's not possible," no stutter, no problem talking, this was a bug to squash and he had no time to share his detest of people. He did, though, have to force himself from calling her 'little girl,' out loud at least. "It's in there to protect the candy from anything _you_ could do."

Her eyes widened for a moment, he was accusing her of being untrustworthy and, in her mind, immoral, immodest, and in possession of a distasteful personality.

"Yes, I know tha', but I don' feel comf'table with the idea of i' hangin' over my head. You'll jus' 'ave to take my word tha' I wouldn' do anythin' deliberately to ruin the company's _golden_ reputation," she was explaining her side of it and mocking him at the same time, referring to strange accusations that had surfaced for a short time after Charlie Bucket and his family had moved into the factory.

They spent the next half-hour discussing, occasionally bickering, her various problems with the contract. Eventually she did get the modesty clause taken out, and once that had happened had backed down a little more easily about quite a few of her problems. It was just after the chocolatier's presence had hit the half an hour mark that a stampede seemed to hit the stairs outside the apartment, a rather talkative and rowdy stampede.

When the door opened and the four other band members burst in, it was all yells and cheers, all happiness. Lydia was immediately up flitting from one to the next wit a hug and a kiss on the cheek, forgetting momentarily her final problem. It had been a note about final approval about garments for public appearances being approved in advance, something that wouldn't be mentioned again until the need for such approval reared its rather slimy head.

"I knew you all could do i'," she grinned, once they'd told her of their recent adventure in auditioning.

Somehow, in the mix of things, the stereo was turned on. It was like an odd ballet. A bow, a curtsey, and she resembled a tiny ballet dancer from the inside of a little girl's music box. Then there was singing, a melody that never would have worked in a logical world, but then four wizards, one witch, and one Mr. Wonka did _not_ live in a logical world. The smell of flowers and sunny afternoons filled the room. Willy found himself convinced they were in a meadow of wildflowers sometime in the late afternoon, the sun was so bright he started searching for his goggles in his pocket.

Take what you're looking for

Grab what you need

You've got only a second

Before this moment flies by

She was singing, it was soft and pretty, befitting of the music box tones that filled the air.

Like a bird

Take wing

Time to see

What it is that you can be

Fly by, reach out

Take hold and let it go…

In a moment you'll see

The world's already gone by

Then, just as suddenly as it all seemed to begin, it stopped. The stereo began playing some classical music and there was a rather loud 'discussion,' code for argument in this instance, going on about what would be done for supper. There were too many people in this suddenly shrinking room, and the one female in the entire apartment that _he_ was there to talk with had vanished into the kitchen.

"Would you like some tea?" she offered, appearing from the group with a silver tray between her hands, upon which sat a silver teapot and service pieces for cream and sugar, as well as two china teacups and saucers.

"Yes, please," tea was always helpful when dealing with thigns.

"Peppermin' or 'Old English?'" she asked, reading the latter off of the teabag package.

She balanced the tray on one hand for a second as she cleared away the papers on one end of the table, giving her just enough room to put the tray down and begin pouring hot water.

"Peppermint would be lovely," he nodded once, no longer affected by the argument occurring just feet away, he was getting peppermint tea, their presence was no long of any matter. "Was there anything else with the contract you had wanted to discuss?"

"No, tha' was everythin'," she replied, forgetting about her qualms with the garment approval clause. "Though I did 'ave one question, wha' color did you wish my hair to be?"

Her question forced him to pay attention to the strands of green apple hanging loosely around her head. He'd never been one to take notice of a woman's appearance, except to know if he thought them pretty or disgusting, most often the latter. The room was silent, focused upon him and only him, as he stumbled through his answer. They all seemed shocked by his answer, but said noting to question. After that, he made arrangements to return the next afternoon with the modified contract. He walked out the door, down the stairs, and into his glass elevator, which he miraculously avoided walking into, as it was parked not far from the bottom of the stairs.

The moment the doors dinged shut, he took two long deep breaths, before switching to very short quick ones. As he pressed the buttons that would return him home, he finally admitted, with a frown, just how hard it was to be an adult. He would not be doing that again anytime soon. That half-hour had felt like three days. Charlie could be the adult from now on, he seemed to have a knack for things like that.

The next day he returned with the contract, which she signed after looking over it quickly to make sure he hadn't slipped anything new in. She signed it of course, and he told her that she was to appear at the factory gates at exactly eight sharp in the morning a week from the previous day. Then he was gone.

* * *

During the following week, a number of things occurred in her life that would annoy and sadden her for some time, but she didn't dwell. To do so would have been counterproductive. John, her dearest older brother, who she'd cast a Jelly-Legs hex upon, took the keys back from the motorcycle, upon finding out that she'd taken the Wonka job and would be staying in town longer than she'd originally told him. He'd also given her a time line at the end of which point she was to be out of the apartment. She wasn't any help with Mother Wilkes, so she wasn't any help to him. It was after this news had been delivered to her that the guys told her that they'd be going ahead with the planned move back to London. It had struck her as odd that she hadn't even thought of the fact that they'd been planning on going back to London 

When she awoke the morning she would begin working for the eccentric man, she could think only that she wanted to look nice, but have look light and summery. Unintentionally, she ended up with a white blouse and a blue jumper sort of dress over top, which looked suspiciously like Dorothy of the _Wizard of OZ_, especially with her now milk chocolate colored hair braided in two rather longer braids than she'd previously had hair coming down on either side of her neck.

It was while she was getting dressed though that she realized he hadn't mentioned anything on what they would be doing this first day. She needed some clue as to comfortable shoes, but she'd conceeded to something that would make her tall. A charm could make any pair of shoes the most comfortable ever.

She was completely oblivious as to who she resembled, when donned a pair of heeled sandals that would have her matching Mr. Wonka inch for inch. Even when Brock, the often absent drummer of the group suggested she use a basket instead of a purse, which she complied cheerfully, claiming there'd be reasonable room for a small snack of fruit, she didn't notice the resemblance. It wasn't until on her way out the door when Olie asked about the whereabouts of her dog Toto did she get the faintest of clues, but then it was too late to change, she didn't have a time turner on her side to make things better.

She was riding her old bicycle into work. In the process of moving back to London and hearing about the motorcycle being taken away, Olie had taken some time to go and talk to her father and retrieve her old bicycle. It was one of those rare moments when she actually remembered why she'd fallen for him during their school days, and as they always did, ended with him making some cruel, slicing remark.

She'd arrived five minutes early and had to wait out the doors for exactly five minutes to be let in. During that time she cursed herself for not remembering the costume of Dorothy before she'd gotten dressed. That was actually why she had the blue dress to begin with, a Halloween costume as Dorothy one year, and now it'd gone horribly wrong.

At eight, the gates opened, and there was Wonka standing on the steps waiting for her. He looked at her a slight bit curiously, when she'd reached him, but said nothing.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"For what?" he asked, her random thanking was unnecessary and missing some information in his mind.

"No' callin' me Dorothy," she told him, wondering for a moment if he'd even noticed, or even knew of the reference to begin with.

"Now why would I do that?" he asked in an almost childish tone, continuing before she could even answer. "Come along now, we have so little to do, and so much time to do it in. No, wait, reverse that. We'll have to skip the show, you'll have to see it some other time; we're far too late this morning."

"'Ow can we be late? I showed up exactly when you told me too, even waited out there for five minutes," she replied indignantly, she was a very prompt person, and he was accusing her of failing one of her best qualities.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you, I'm a little deaf in my right ear, please don't mumble so much," he told her, leading her into a long, rather chrome, hallway lined with a red carpet down the center of the hall.

**

* * *

End Note: That's all for now, sorry it's so short, I just really wanted to write this scene with her looking like Dorothy (I was listening to Veruca's song from the new movie, inspiration can be strange, oompa-loompa, the midgets of OZ, same difference). Also, I didn't want to leave it at only the first chapter before I left on vacation. If you're really lucky, I'll write more, but that's really unlikely. Please review, I love to hear comments of all types, except flames, if there's nothing constructive, there's no point. **

**Songs:** the only song was just this weird little ditty I came up with around three last night, there were other verses, but I liked those the best.


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